chicago

I am in Chicago and I am drunk. I woke up this morning in Miami and dead-headed to Newark to sit around for three hours. When we finally made it MID our crew was picked up in a limo and driven downtown. Our long layover is at this amazing hotel in the heart of the city called the Palmer House. The lobby is like something you would see in Venice and the rooms are so quaint. When I reach my room, I immediately turn on the tv and look for the Duck game. No dice, there is regional action only. I meet up with the pilots and head to a sports bar next door. I ask them to change one tv to the Duck game from the Mets playoffs and they deny me. I eat my steak and drink my wine say goodbye to the pilots and hop in a cab. I am told that Timothy O'Tooles is where I need to go. I arrive in time for the second half and saddle up at the bar with a Guiness next to a Tennesse fan. I cheer loud for the few plays that go our way and drink more beer. After watching the Mets reach the next stage of the playoffs, I retreat back to the hotel and think for a few minutes that I should crash the wedding in the hotel. Common sense takes over at midnight and I rest my head on the down pillows which surround me.